


The Dawn is Breaking, Can You Hear It?

by soraflye (flitterfly5)



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Childhood Sweethearts, Circus, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5685763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitterfly5/pseuds/soraflye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Inseparable childhood friends Toma and Aiba enter the Circus, a magical place that houses an enchanted Carousel with white horses that can whisk you off to the night to shine forever as a star. However, the Carousel spins only for those who hear its bells, and the bells ring only for those who fall in true love. Sweet, innocent Aiba immediately catches the attention of the Circus’s Prince Jun, but the stern Prince needs Toma’s help to win Aiba’s heart. What he doesn’t know is that Toma himself may harbor feelings of more than simple friendship towards Aiba…</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dawn is Breaking, Can You Hear It?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akhikaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akhikaru/gifts).



> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I am not affiliated with Arashi, Ikuta Toma or Johnny’s artists.  
> A/N: Because I liked stargazing.

  _~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a magical carousel. Soft were its bells, and silent were its horses, and still as a statue it stood._

_But when trembling true love tiptoed and touched its reins… Sweetly the bells would sing, and fiercely the stallions would neigh…_

_And slowly—very slowly—, the carousel would start to spin…”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“May the sweetbells jingle over your dreams.”

 “Thank you. And may the horsehooves thunder across yours.”

 Ikuta Toma rose from his ceremonial position on stage, his downturned cheeks flushed with relief as the venerable Old Johnny placed a wreath of peonies on his head. Beside him, another young boy was beaming with all the energy in the world as a similar wreath slipped down his forehead to cover both his eyes comically.

 “Mnngghehe.” Toma couldn’t help but bite back a chuckle, a tense knot loosening in his stomach as the sheepish gaze of one Aiba Masaki met his through the bright red (and now slightly messy) petals in his hair. Trust Aiba to liven up even the most solemn of ceremonies! Toma found his sweaty palms unconsciously unclenching the fabric of his hakama. Aiba had always been there beside him, ever since their parallel births from the deep pockets of the earth, and watching him wiggle his willow-like brows in frantic efforts to keep the wreath off his nose was, in the gravity of the moment, oddly calming.

 _"_ _I want to fly,” Aiba had told him one time in their very distant childhood. “I want to chase the lights as they shoot into the night. And I want to play hide and seek with the stars.”_

  _"People can’t fly,” ten-year-old Toma had scoffed._

_“You can if you get into the Circus!” Aiba had looked triumphant. “People who go in never come out. They fly off on a magic carousel to live with the stars. And they even have a Prince who becomes the brightest star of all!”_

_“The Circus…” An unconscious seed fluttered in Toma’s heart. How many times had he and Aiba stared off into the distance, looking for the gleam of that famous Carousel spire?_

 _“Hey, Toma?” Aiba nudged him after a stagnant minute of silence. “…What if_ we _travelled all the way to the Circus?”_

 The rest, as they would later say, was all history: a few dozen auditions, a slurry of wacky faces, a maze of mirrors, a web of tightropes … until finally Aiba tamed the fierce lion that held Toma’s neck between its fangs, and they had been allowed to rest. The next morning, they each woke up with an invitation on their pillow.

  _And now, we are members of the Circus, under the light of the Carousel._

 “Can you believe we’re actually here?” Aiba was grinning at him, a red peony still dangling across his brow.

 Heart pounding, Toma smiled back. Up on the high podium, the venerable Old Johnny was motioning to a boy who also had a wreath of peonies in his hair. Unlike them, though, his face was haughty and unsmiling, with prominent beauty marks adorning his lips and two eyebrows that were already a bit too masculine for his young years. With a flash, the spotlight lit him up, and Toma could hear Aiba’s gasp as a cloud of butterflies flew up around him in a mist of glitter.

 “Oh, he’s so young!”

  _This must be him, the one Aiba always talks about._

 Old Johnny’s voice boomed out proudly.

 “The Prince of the Circus will now lead the toast!”

 The boy turned, his lofty gaze sweeping across the line of peony-wreathed heads. Darkly, it lingered around them and Toma’s breath almost stopped in his throat when he saw the thick brows suddenly draw up in a deep furrow.

 “Hi~!”

 Like a chime of bells, Aiba’s voice echoed through the enraptured tent, and before Toma could stop him, he was waving up at the lone figure in the light, waving _loudly_ with both hands and a mile-long smile and a half-undone wreath spilling into his crinkled eyes (which was undoubtedly what had attracted the Prince’s scrutiny in the first place, thought Toma, mortified).

 “Hello! Princ—Ow!”

 Toma removed his foot from where he had just given his best friend a kick. “Shh-!” he hissed. “Just keep still… and _fix your hair_.”

 People were staring, but Aiba giggled and gave one last wave to the glittering Prince above them.

 Without batting an eyelash, the Prince turned away, but there was just a hint of red on his cheeks as he faced the audience again.

 “Gathered brethren, let us raise our glasses.”

 Toma shivered. _Even his voice sounds like it can conjure stormclouds._

 “I present you, the Starlings of 96!”

 A resounding cheer echoed through the festooned tent, and all embarrassment was momentarily forgotten as strings of confetti rained over them, red and gold and emerald and silver. Toma inched his chin up just a fraction, an ear-to-ear beam of his own spreading as the glasses clinked collectively and Aiba’s sneaky hand wrapped itself around his fingers.

 _We’re going to fly_ , he thought happily.

_Some day._

_We’re really going to play hide and seek with the stars._

 Aiba was hugging him, and they both laughed, elated.

 Like they thought this moment would last forever.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Two boys met and fell in love riding the carousel_

_The horses leapt and bore them off on streaks of jingling bells._

Toma had always thought that he and Aiba would be side by side until the end, just like they’d been side by side since the very beginning. Neither of them knew a life without the other, and Toma just figured that they never would.

 “Catch!”

 Toma caught.

 “Spin!”

Toma spun.

 “Jump!”

 Toma jumped, his arms stretched far above his head. He was rising, then floating, then finally falling like a forlorn ballerina until…

 “Catch!”

Familiar hands latched seamlessly onto his outstretched wrists, and faintly, he wrinkled his nose. That earthy scent, he smiled as they swung through the air with their bodies molded gracefully upon a single flying trapeze. He was four stories above ground, but he closed his eyes and sequestered himself in that cloud of scent, and he didn’t feel afraid at all.

Because that scent was Masaki, and with Masaki he was going to fly, above the tents, above the clouds, to dance with those mischievously twinkling stars. _Hand in hand, side by side, just like Masaki had always dreamed…_

“Oi Aiba! Don’t close your eyes!”

The hands around him tightened, as if bristling at the same interruption of their togetherness, and soon he was pulled up to share the bar, where they swung for one more length before jumping off onto a raised platform, face to face with the disapproving figure of Matsumoto Jun, Prince of the Circus.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Somehow, the dark eyes managed to simultaneously fix them both in their sternness. “You’ll miss your cue and ruin the show. _Don’t close your eyes!_ ”

The glare intensified as it rested on their joined, thirteen-year-old hands. Between his fingers, Toma could feel Aiba trembling. _Why does Matsumoto always have to find fault with Aiba? Innocent Aiba, who worships him so much…_ Unbidden, a fire flared up in Toma’s chest, and he jut out his chin with defiance, returning Matsumoto’s dark gaze dagger for dagger.

“Stop picking on Aiba,” he growled. “We’ve flown together for years.”

The dark eyes narrowed on where his fist was tightening over Aiba’s hand. Toma would never admit it, but he did feel somewhat _possessive_ in that moment, something the Prince seemed to sense.

“I’m aware of your intimacy,” Matsumoto muttered sullenly. He cast another look at their joined hands and dismissed them with a grunt. “Now get back on the ground.”

“Come on, Aiba.” Huffing, Toma spun towards the exit ladder. “Let’s get out of here—”

He pulled, but his hand was suddenly grasping thin air.

“J-Jun-kun?”

The voice was so timid. Surprised, Toma turned back. Did Aiba just call their thunder-faced Prince by his _given_ name? His friend’s eyes had moved from the floor to where Matsumoto’s arms were crossed over his chest, and unbelievably, he was edging closer, looking almost _shy_ as Matsumoto frowned down on him. A shaking hand was held out, and a flare of pink dashed across those wintry cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Aiba whispered, barely audible. “I know you’re just very worried about everyone. I won’t do it again, promise. Please don’t be angry with Toma.”

Matsumoto neither moved nor spoke.

“Please,” Aiba’s voice grew even softer. “Don’t be angry with me, either.”

With a mask-like expression, Matsumoto turned away. 

“Leave,” was all he said.

Toma stumbled over to grab his foolish Aiba by the sleeve.

“Let’s _go_ ,” he whispered. Aiba nodded, strangely obedient, and followed him down the ladder.

Toma grit his teeth as they hurried to the ground.

_The way Matsumoto Jun was staring at Aiba…_

Toma winced as he bit his own tongue, running.

_I don’t like it one bit._

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Do flowers in the dust still look up at the sun?_

The Circus was a place for young boys to dream, but within the Circus the young boys grew, and dreams that once shone bright from their faces they now cloistered with embarrassment behind newfound pimples and peach fuzz. Their whines evolved to groans, their squeaks now bellows, and as their muscles grew harder so did their faces, the eyes more veiled, the jawlines more angular, and the lips set more towards scowling than smiling.

They had all changed, the Starlings. Matsumoto Jun had grown even more powerfully handsome, though as the years passed, a certain tenderness began to enter his eyes, and it was no longer difficult to approach him. Sakurai Sho, Ninomiya Kazunari, Ohno Satoshi… they had all grown, too…

Only Aiba remained unchanged.

Well, technically that wasn’t true, because he had changed in some ways. Musingly, Toma surveyed his now post-pubescent friend from across the room and noted the longer legs, the broader torso, the tantalizing veins of that _very_ masculine neck… Yes, he supposed that Aiba had changed—grown, so to speak—but somehow, he didn’t feel _different._ His eyes still sparkled when he looked up at the stars, his voice still trembled when he sang a ballad, and his hands still liked to sneak into Toma’s, interlacing their fingers until their palms were flush up against each other.

Like they were lovers or something.

 _No!_ Toma batted that thought away at once, terrified of the thrill that had just coursed down his spine. He and Aiba…? No, no… surely not! Never in a thousand years…  It just wouldn’t work… it’d never work. Because Aiba was _Aiba_ , and Toma was, well…

He looked dully at his reflection. Even in the murkiness of the window-glass, it was obvious. _That nose._ That gargantuan, beastly nose that had come with the Ikuta brand of puberty. It had grown like a gigantic pimple, hooking its way off his face like some grotesque bird’s beak, covering his mouth with a perpetual shadow like he was some gnarly crone with a massive wart between his cheeks.

“Yeah, right!” He chortled drily. _As if_ I _could ever be mistaken as Aiba’s lover…_

He probably wouldn’t even be able to _kiss_ Aiba without bruising those pretty cheeks.

“Hmph!” He chortled again. Was he seriously thinking of kisses already? He, the ugly Ikuta, fantasizing about claiming the lips of the beautiful Aiba Masaki?

Somehow, the thought of that made him feel uglier than his nose ever did.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_The drums have rolled, and the five have been chosen. Let us play tonight, to celebrate their passage from Starling’s Home to the Carousel!_

Was this what it felt like to have one’s wires cut mid-swing? Was this numbness that transient loss of gravity just before the impact? Was his body about to shatter into a million glittering shards, to be collected back into the deep crevices of the earth where he was born?

“Congratulations.”

He didn’t actually break. He didn’t even chip. In fact, the more he looked into that face that always pulled him in, the more he felt whole, and the more his smile crept open. They were born of the same crevice, after all. Picked the petals off the same dandelion, nicked their toes on the same rose bush. Chased the same clouds, and caught the same fistfuls of freezing air.

“The five of you will be great together,” he continued, patting that familiar shoulder with a leaden hand. His smile was so wide it hurt, but he didn’t want to decide if that should feel good or bad.

“Thank you.” Aiba’s eyes were guileless, and Toma felt a flash of guilt for wanting to adulterate that joy. “They’re a fun bunch, you know. Nino teases me. Jun’s always scowling at him. Sho keeps asking to borrow clothes. And Ohno never needs to say a thing. But I’m going to miss you, Toma. It was Toma who entered the Circus with me, after all, and it’s you who’ll always be my _best_ friend.”

Toma remembered an earthy scent enveloping him like a shroud, and two warm arms (now grown so shapely and slender!) pulling him in to rest against a familiar heartbeat.

 _Best friend, huh_ … For some reason, those words circled round and round in his mind, and as much as he tried in his later years, he would never willingly revisit the agony of that moment or that one gut punching word.

Best. _Friend_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Old Johnny’s pavilion smelled of exotic spices and odd perfumes. Johnny himself always leered down at his Starlings from above his tinted glasses like some wiry old scarecrow who could disintegrate into poisonous dust at any moment’s notice.

Toma had never liked visiting Old Johnny alone, but Aiba was now riding the pretty horses in the Carousel and barely getting enough sleep to have energy to even talk. So like it or not, Toma was going to have to start visiting Old Johnny on his own.

“Toma, Toma, oh my dear little Toma.”

Toma fought the urge to edge his chair away from the simpering old man. He hated it when he was in one of those condescending moods.

“It’s time you moved on from the Starlings, boy.”

Toma perked up hopefully.

“Are you sending me to the Carousel?” He held his breath, eyes wide, but Johnny only let out a booming laugh.

“The Carousel?” His eyes still twinkled with cruel amusement. “You have some funny ideas, don’t you, Toma-chan? But I’m afraid this one won’t fly.” He chuckled again. “My Carousel boys need time to bond among _themselves_. It’ll be good for the chemistry. Can’t let an outsider in to disrupt them!”

“O-outsider?” Toma felt his jaw drop.

Was that what he’d become already? From flying, connected through every breath, to being an outsider, unfit to even step foot in the centerpiece of their shared Circus?

“But we were all Starlings of 96!” He continued weakly, while Johnny quirked a tickled brow. “The same peonies… we wore them in our hair…”

“Don’t live in the past.” Johnny cut across him, his tone suddenly impatient. “You were cute, Toma, but you didn’t grow up handsome enough for the Carousel. I’m sending you to the Clowns.” He shuffled the papers on his desk and folded his hands across them with an air of finality.

“You have a big enough nose for it anyway,” he smirked.

When Toma got back to his room, his luggage was already neatly packed and waiting for him at the door.

 _Well_ , he gave a wry smile. _What chance did Ugly Ikuta ever have with the beautiful Aiba Masaki?_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Boys fall in love. That’s when they become men._

“You didn’t have to come,” he told the now gracefully tall young man leaning by the costume rack of the Clowns. He’d just spent the last hour getting his face painted over with bright, grotesque patterns, and for the first time in his life, he wished that the eyes of Aiba Masaki were not fixed so intently on him. “This is a show for twelve-year-olds, you know.” He pulled on a wig and laughed, perhaps a bit louder than usual. “Besides, isn’t the Carousel busy right now?”

“I think they can survive an hour without me.” Toma didn’t know when Aiba had grown so proficient at sleight of hand, but all of a sudden, a full bouquet of glistening peonies was being stuffed into his face out of nowhere.

“Here’s to your first show!”

Even through the mess of flowers, he could see that excited smile spread over Aiba’s cheeks. It gave him a bitter burn in his throat, but he reminded himself that it was only a result of his own overly convincing act of delight at taking up the Clowns’ mantle.

“Well?” Aiba shook the flowers forth eagerly. “Take it, Toma! I’ve put all my luck in there for you!”

Toma lowered his head to accept the bouquet, and then turned back to his mirror, not meeting Aiba’s eyes.

“You’ve gotten better at conjuring tricks,” he remarked.

“Try spending eight hours a day with Nino,” Aiba laughed easily and reached out to help him tuck back some stray hairs. 

The touch was so sorely missed that Toma froze for just a hairbreadth of time, but it was enough for Aiba to step around him and adopt a look of concern.

“Is something wrong, Toma?” The perfect lips were still so clueless. It made Toma’s insides writhe suddenly with an urge to grab and bruise them until they were nothing but warm flops of flesh against his mouth.

“I’m…I’m fine,” he croaked out. “Just nervous.”

Gently, Aiba laughed again, and Toma was very glad of the heavy face-paint that covered his growingly heated cheeks.

“You’ll be amazing!” Limply, he let Aiba draw him into a hug. “Here, take a petal and put it in your pocket. It’s a peony. It’s good luck.”

Weakly, he nodded and tucked a moist petal into his glove. The lights were already coming up onstage, and Aiba gave a yelp of dismay as he realized the time.

“Ah! It’s about to start! I’ve got to go find my seat!”

Toma smiled as he watched his old friend dash away, hair flopping, jacket askew, and he could almost swear that he smelt a hint of that familiar earthy scent from their days far, far in the past. He closed his eyes, sucked in as much of that comforting scent as he could fit in his gargantuan nose, and sighed.

 _As long as Aiba’s watching._ He could almost forget that he was an ugly clown.

And almost believe that he was a glittering, straight nosed prince.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first show went well, four curtain calls and a bouncy standing ovation from all one hundred child-sized seats in the house. People always loved a new face, a new absurdity, but the tropes were always the same, the jigs still corny, the shanties still droll. And two years into his Clownhood, Toma was still known for nothing but his prominent nose and inability to smile without showing all his teeth.

Toma was a good Clown, but there were still things that he clung to. Secret things like the shriveled old show lion he saved from the needle and the coiled up trapeze that was gathering dust in his closet. Useless things, but they helped him keep his head down and try not to shine too bright. He was never meant to be a star, anyways. He reminded himself daily. The stars were far away, cloistered and safe in the folds of the night.

“Here, Jii-san.”

He poked a piece of meat through the bars of a lion cage, and then sat down with his back against the metal. A soft patter approached him from behind.

“Lonely, are you?” He chuckled as a wet muzzle pressed into the fabric of his shirt. His head leaned back just slightly through the bars, and he sighed when he felt a clumsy warmth pawing at his hair.

“It’s been a while since we shared the stage, hasn’t it? Do you even remember, Jii-san?” He gazed up at the night, where the summer fireworks were just starting to light up the skies. “Back then, you still had teeth, big, long fangs they were. And what a roar you’d make every time they ushered you into the ring!”

The lion gave a mewl and nestled its head on its paws.

“Even Aiba was a little scared of you, you know. It’s why I never let you tickle him with your fangs. That game was just for us, Jii. Just for us.”

Absently, Toma reached back a finger and combed it through the matted tangles of a once-magnificent mane. In the dark, a low purr coursed under the boom of the distant fireworks.

He knew he should be heading back soon; it was festival night, and everyone in the Circus was supposed to make merry and be raucous. The Carousel had made it its mission to pump the night full of magical fires, and every trumpet was now puffing rainbow glitter into the air as the parade surged on.

It just wasn’t the kind of thing Toma enjoyed. He kicked a loose clump of dirt and sighed.

_Brooding solitude. That’s more my thing these days._

“… and then I’ll fly to the stars, and ask them if they’re jealous that fireworks have color!”

“Don’t be stupid. You can’t fly!"

Two unmistakable voices rounded a corner into earshot, and Toma froze as he saw two corresponding silhouettes moving slowly along a length of curtain that had been hung out to dry. It was at the edge of the party, but the lights were still gleaming on the other side, and he had no doubt who the two shadows there belonged to.

“Not _yet_ , Jun,” the first voice countered patiently. “It’s only a matter of time, though. I’ve been spending time with the horses, and there’s something growing in their eyes these days; they’re about to come to life, and the bells are going to ring soon! I can just feel it!”

The two figures stopped, and Toma watched as the first one tugged at the second, seemingly concerned at the lack of a prompt response.

“Jun? Hey, are you all right?”

Jun’s silhouette was very still, and Toma caught a new stiffness in the way he held himself, steely and erect in the balmy summer air. For a few seconds, he simply stood, a hand in his pocket, until finally a firework lit up the land and he made a vague turn away from his companion.

“Aiba,” he said quietly. “You know that the bells only ring for those who fall in love.”

“Hmm?” Aiba tilted his head, and then relaxed. “Oh _that_!” he laughed, patting Jun on the back. “That’s easy! That’s just like the fairy tales we act out, true love’s kiss and all. You just find a random pair of lips, and that requirement will be satisfied.”

“Random?” Jun was still facing away, his voice tight and low. “Easy? No, Aiba. I don’t think lip service alone will be enough for the bells. I think that to fly, you have to be like… like _Sho and Nino_.”

 _Sho-kun and Nino?_ Toma drew a sharp breath, sharing Aiba’s stunned silence. These two Starlings who entered the Carousel with Aiba had played a game of cat-chase-mouse that the entire Circus had watched behind polite masks, until the day that impish Nino finally surrendered his heart and with soft lips promised his tender virtue to a haggard, despairing Sho…

 _To be like Sho-kun and Nino…_ Aiba choked out a straggly giggle, pulling Jun back around so they were face to face again.

“All right, then,” he said in a sobered tone. “Let’s say I’m Nino. Would you help me look for my Sho?”

Jun’s shadow grew, if possible, even stiffer.

“Love isn’t something you look for, Aiba.”

Toma felt an odd constriction in his chest as he watched the shadow of Jun slip gracefully out of Aiba’s grip. There was a sigh, more wistful than exasperated, and subtler than anything he had ever heard come out of Matsumoto’s proud lips.

“Most of the time, it just appears right in front of you when you least expect it.”

Toma watched as Jun broke away, and stayed still as a statue for the few seconds before a bemused Aiba followed. Behind him, a wave of fireworks blazed fresh across the sky, and Jii-san gave a low whimper in his rusted cage.

“Hmm? What’s that you say? You think Aiba’s got marbles for brains?” Toma gave a wry laugh, and pushed another piece of meat through the cage. “Well, I can’t say I disagree, Jii-chan.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Princes, Clowns, we all wear masks._

The day Jun showed up to his tent, he was just applying the umpteenth layer of make-up over his now-infamous nose. He was Ikuta the Schnozzleman, bringing countless criminals to justice with his unlimited superpower to sneeze jets of snot-whips. The children liked him, even though half usually thought he played the bad guy, and Yamashita, his co-star who _actually_ played the bad guy would invariably get asked for more autographs upon curtain call.

Toma really didn’t mind any of these things, though. He actually got along quite well with Yamashita, and didn’t grudge him the little recognition he received. But with the Carousel’s most glamourous member standing a mere three feet away, watching with hooded eyes as he applied the clownish paste over his face, Toma was beginning to feel just a bit uneasy.

“What do you want?” he finally asked, even though technically, clowns were never to talk to Carousel members unless spoken to first.

“A commiserator,” Jun answered, and Toma noticed for the first time that the star-like shimmer no longer shone about his face. Nor did his hair stay in perfect tufts that framed his normally defined jawbones. In fact, Matsumoto was wearing jeans which were ripped (and not in a fashionable way), a shirt with loose threads, and a muddy brown jacket that looked suspiciously wet on the sleeves.

“Did something happen?” Unconsciously, Toma stepped closer.

“Yes.” Up close, he could see stubble quivering along the shapely chin. It unnerved him. The Prince he knew had always been clean shaven.

“I heard the bells, Toma.”

Jun sounded surprisingly calm, but Toma’s heart dropped. Like a trapeze, empty, in free fall.

“And who is the lucky man?” he managed to inquire politely, despite a huge lump in his throat that was beginning to hurt.

“I think you know.” Jun was now very quiet, his voice dulled by some complicated emotion. “He had no secrets from you, and what he didn’t tell you you never needed words to understand, anyway.”

It was sad, Toma thought, almost heartbreaking, to see the famous Prince of the Carousel falter, crack, and finally disintegrate before him.

 _Love—perhaps it is cruel to everyone_.

“Excuse me,” he apologized, bowing away into safety. “But I don’t think I understand what you’re talking about.”

That was a lie, but his gargantuan nose was beginning to feel hot, and he didn’t want his garishly bright make-up to be streaked with tears just yet. “I think I should be heading back, sorry—” 

“It’s Aiba!” The name pulled him back like a whip. “My bells rang for Aiba.”

At the last word, Jun’s voice broke, and Toma watched as the proud eyes softened to velvet and the iron grip slackened to nothing.

“Johnny-san says I’m to ascend in six months,” continued the trembling lips. “He wants me to be Prince of the Night Sky, and of course I’m honored, but I… I don’t want—I mean, Aiba hasn’t heard any bells at all…”

 _Six months? And with Aiba still naïve?_ An angry breath caught in Toma’s throat. _Johnny-san must be_ _eager to propel this one to stardom._ Big _stardom._

Because, of course, everyone knew what they said about the stars, how they were immortalized Carousel members with flames of love in their core, and how the brightest ones always burned from hearts that were doomed to be forever unrequited. The bells were heralds of love, but more importantly, they were heralds also of a new star’s ascent.

_If Aiba’s bells don’t ring for Jun within the next six months…_

Jun must have caught the flash of realization in his eyes, because he colored before continuing. “I figured you’d understand, Toma. I still remember how you used to glare at me whenever I tried to talk to him.” He gave a tiny smile. “You were always there, protecting him.”

“That’s all in the past,” Toma answered stiffly. “The peonies have long since faded from our wreaths.”

“I still keep mine,” said Jun, and sensing Toma’s surprise, he opened his collar and from a pocket close to his heart, he produced a pressed pink flower, still rich in color, with every vein on its petals preserved to perfection.

“They keep telling me that I was born a star,” he said softly, stroking it. “But I think I was only ice, until that day I stood on the high podium and heard him calling out to me.”

The tatters on his jeans moved lightly in the wind, and etches of tenderness finally showed themselves on that haughty face. He gave a grimace to the balloons and flags around him, one hand tucking the little flowerpiece carefully back into his shirt, and Toma found himself feeling a strange sense of kinship with this glittering Prince of the Carousel. He thought of the single petal he had clutched on his first day as a clown, and the lopsided wreath that had slipped over Aiba’s chocolate eyes, and smiled right through his clownish make-up and nose.

“What is it you want from me?” he asked again, much more sincerely this time. 

Jun’s eyes turned dark as they looked back at him, the lashes trembling like nervous horses waiting for their harnesses to be reared.

“Aiba Masaki,” was the shaky answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What were you supposed to feel after promising to unravel, thread by thread, your own happiness? How were you supposed to live—to walk, sit, eat and smile—while counting down the days to that final curtain? How could you even prepare for that? That last act which would inevitably be one of relinquishing, of beaming until your cheeks hurt, and then quietly letting go?

_‘I promise, you will not spend eternity up there alone,’ he had told Jun, ignoring the invisible knife he was twisting into his own belly. ‘Aiba may be thickheaded in these matters, but I think he’ll return your feelings. He’s always worshipped you, you know.”_

In retrospect, Toma supposed that he really should have seen it coming. He belonged to the Clowns, after all, and theirs was an earthbound existence, full of bawdy humor and coarse merriment. There was no angle for melancholy on their painted faces, no room for lofty romances that spanned the skies. Who had ever heard of a _weeping_ clown, after all?

Their hearts were just not shaped to hold the passion of the stars, a passion that pierced the darkest hours of the night to lift the chins of pining lovers all over the earth. Toma gave a bitter smile. All these years, he had had a nice run pretending, but now was the time to remember; the magic of the Carousel, which had practically gushed out of Jun, did not run in even a single hair on his body.

_He could feel his world falling, but swallowed the stabbing pain at his throat and laughed—warmly, brightly, fervently—through the painted skin of his face._

_“Not at all!” He had even overstepped the bounds of propriety by giving Jun a hearty pat on the back. “Of course you can have him! You’re hilarious, Jun-kun! Too hilarious…haha, I mean… Aiba? He’s practically a brother to me! How could I even think of him in that way?”_

_Jun’s eyes had cleared like a dewy sunrise, and for the first time, Toma saw him smile, a true, genuine smile that made his innate brilliance shine a hundred times more potently than what he had ever shown a rapt audience. Awkwardly, his arms moved, and the next thing Toma knew, he was being pulled into a suffocating embrace by the shining Prince of the Carousel._

_“I’m sorry,” Toma heard him murmur. “I always thought… I really thought that you and he were… you know…”_

_Toma laughed again and patted him some more. Up close, Matsumoto Jun really_ was _an exquisite man, from the lush hair that lay soft on his brow to the dark moles that dotted his handsomely whorled lips._

_He was just a clown, but even he could feel his heart tingling with the wistful magic that the Carousel had given its Prince._

_Definitely born a star, this one._

_Gently, he shook his head, the smile never faltering under his perpetually painted grin._

_“He’s always wanted to fly,” he whispered into that handsome ear. “Take care of him on the way up, okay?”_

_It was easy, he thought, as Jun hugged him tighter. It was always easy for a clown to keep smiling._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“There, you’re all set.”

Toma sprayed one last puff of mist over the glittering head before him. Gingerly, the eyes of Aiba Masaki opened, long lashes parting just slightly to squint through the pungent mist that was to fix his hair. They had spent the last hour in the deep chambers of the Carousel, hidden from the sight of others and stealing nostalgic moments as the clownish fingers combed through the beautiful brown hair. _Just like we used to, back in Starling’s Home, when we brought showers of peonies wherever we went._

“Will you stay a while longer?” Aiba asked absently, surveying himself in the mirror. It was not at all infrequently that he snuck Toma through the Carousel gates, but recently, the clown had taken to leaving earlier and earlier. “You don’t have another rehearsal, do you?”

He looked back through the mirror, and was it just Toma, or was there a hint of hurt in those eyes?

“I don’t, but I should go anyway.” Toma ducked his head, unwilling to let Aiba read him, hating that he even had anything to hide. “Sho-kun and Nino have just consummated, and soon all eyes are going to be focused here.”

“But it’s _you_ ,” Aiba pouted. “I don’t care if they see us. Everyone knows that we grew up together.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he answered briskly. “You told me a long time ago that you’d play hide and seek with the stars one day, and I’m not going to stand in the way of that.”

He brushed a dab of perfume across Aiba’s temple and smiled lightly to dispel the topic.

“Now go hang out with Jun-kun or something.” He grinned, gathering his coat and bag. “I bet he could use some company before the curtainrise.”

The pout on Aiba’s face lasted for only a fraction of a second more before converting to a frown.

“You’ve been hanging out with Jun an awful lot these days,” Aiba said suspiciously.

“Only because Sho-kun’s been glued to Nino’s face and Ohno-kun’s taken up a new hobby on the ocean,” Toma replied smoothly, the tone of nonchalance so convincing it surprised even himself. “You know, he might not need me so much if _you_ hung out with him more.”

“Yeah right…” Aiba’s normally bright voice burned down to a low mutter. “Our Prince Perfect never even looks at me these days, unless it’s to scowl at my ungraceful dance moves…”

Toma’s heart twitched at the genuine dejection in his friend’s words, but he steeled himself up and rested a hand lightly on the doorknob.

“Do me a favor, will you?” he said, a painful twinkle in his eye. “Next time you’re on the dance floor, stare straight into that scowl and give it a good hard look for me, okay?”

Aiba seemed perplexed, but he shrugged and nodded, just like Toma knew he would.

 _I’m his anchor, after all._ He sighed once he was safely out the door.

_But soon he’ll want to fly free._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And I was thinking, maybe an Italian restaurant, you know? Like Luciano’s or something. Start off big, show him that he’s the most precious thing to me, that sort of thing.” MatsuJun was pacing around Toma’s tent, for once not turning his nose up at the unsightly clutter as he babbled on wildly.

“I think he’d like pasta, too. It’s an elegant food, isn’t it? Or do you think I should go with French? French has been all the rage in the Carousel these days. They have better linen on their tables. Maybe it’d be better if I took him to _Maison_ , though they did just change chefs, so who knows…”

Fighting the urge to laugh at the very thought of Aiba in a dinner jacket with half a dozen silver utensils in front of him, Toma caught Jun’s arm before he could spout more misguided ideas.

“No restaurants,” he told him firmly. “Trust me on that one.” 

MatsuJun’s brows furrowed. “What? Why? You think he’d prefer a café? Because I know of several—”

“No cafes, either. Take him to a baseball game.”

 Toma chuckled at the shock in Jun’s face.

“It’s the hot dogs,” he explained. “Aiba _loves_ them. Doesn’t even matter which stand you buy them from. Just stuff his face with at least three good wieners, generous relish, easy on the ketchup, and I guarantee he’ll be clinging onto your arm and eating out of your hand for the rest of the night.”

Something that sounded suspiciously like a whine escaped Jun’s throat.

“E-Eating out of my hand?” he swallowed, and licked his lips with uncharacteristic nervousness. “You think so?”

 Toma smiled, feeling strangely happy as he watched a shy hope blossom in Matsumoto Jun’s eyes.

“I know so,” he answered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aiba had always possessed the uncanny skill of finding Toma whenever he needed solitude the most. And when that silly laughter filled the air between them, it would always make him realize that perhaps, it wasn’t solitude he needed after all.

He could still remember cold dew on January mornings, Aiba’s scarf, which was so long it could wrap around both their shoulders if they huddled really close, and the soft hum of their breaths as they counted the stars with their fingers. It had always been moments like those when he fancied he had a chance, when Aiba’s neck would be so close to his face that he could almost imagine they were kissing, like regular lovers in winter streets.

“Toma?” A voice hesitantly interrupted his reverie. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Mmm.”

He shifted over to let Aiba sit on the grass beside him. He already knew what this would be about, but he humored his old friend and smiled when Aiba plucked a dandelion and held it out to him.

“I’ll hear the bells—” He removed a petal, just like they used to back in Starling’s Home, and passed it back.

“—I’ll hear them not—” Aiba did the same, his large eyes solemn.

“—Hear the bells—”

“—Hear them not—”

“—Hear the bells—?”

He stopped, raising a brow at the hand that had suddenly grabbed him by the wrist. Aiba’s eyes were no longer on the flower between them, but instead trained on his face, and through the tightening grip, he could feel the long arms trembling.

“Toma,” Aiba finally breathed. “Have you ever thought about what would happen if I actually _do_ hear the bells one day?”

 _Have I thought about it, indeed?_ The irony was crushing him, but he managed to laugh and toss the half-plucked flower over his shoulder with a lightness he did not feel at all.

“There’s no _‘if,’_ Aiba. You’re a member of the Carousel, and you have the biggest heart I know. _You’re going to hear the bells._ ”

He ruffled the golden brown hair in front of him and gave another laugh at Aiba’s wrinkled brow.

“Then you’ll join with your man, just like Nino joined with Sho-kun, and the stars will be waiting to play hide and seek with you, just like you’ve always dreamed.”

“And Toma?” Aiba leaned in until every eyelash could be counted with disconcerting clarity, and Toma had to fight to keep down the treacherous shiver of desire that welled up inside. “What will Toma do?”

“I—Well, I’ll be watching from down here,” he smiled, only a little unsteadily.

 _Are you disappointed?_ He blinked down, afraid to read the answer in Aiba’s innocent face. He thought he felt a flinch, and for a brief moment, a strange hope flared that perhaps—just perhaps—Aiba was finding it equally hard to let go, but that hope fizzled in less than a second, because when Aiba spoke again, his voice was the perfect level of velvet it had always been and the arm that came around to wrap his shoulders was just as comforting as any brotherly embrace they’d shared before.

“Jun-kun wants me to go to Koshien with him next week,” Aiba grinned softly, his eyes dyed with sunset, so beautiful that Toma almost cried at the thought of losing it to the night forever. “I think he might have a little crush on me.”

“Jun-kun?” Toma feigned a look of surprise, and then slapped a congratulatory pat on his old friend’s back. “I didn’t know he was into baseball. You two are practically made for each other!”

“Oh, shut up!” Aiba giggled, the excitement clear on his boyish face. “You should have seen him blabber about the draft this morning! He was so animated, he actually smiled and his whole face looked different!”

“Jun-kun smiled?” Toma covered his mouth in convincing disbelief. “My, he must really like you. Or baseball,” he added teasingly. Aiba gave him a swat to the head, but kept grinning until it widened to a laugh.

“Thank you, Toma,” he said finally, as the first stars began appearing on the horizon. “For making me look into that scowl.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The lights were dimming for Christmas Eve, every flag dulled and every balloon deflated as the Circus deferred silently to the subtle unveiling of the evening sky. High above the tents loomed the Carousel, a dark spire rising beyond the silhouette of the trees, and a faint mist of fireflies congregating around its tip.

Toma always remembered Christmas Eve. Not the ones with illuminated plastic Santas and entire towns swamped in dancing lights, but one that was plain and dark, with only ten flickering candles stuck into the cement and a dirty stuffed dog sitting by it like a forlorn guest.

And a young boy, too. A young, long-limbed boy squatting by the roadside, half muttering, half singing.

_Happy birthday to me~_

_~mmfhff!_

The boy hiccupped, and then continued doggedly in a voice that sounded genuinely happy, in a lonely kind of way.

_Happy birthday to me~_

More out of curiosity than anything else, Toma found himself clapping at the song’s end. He remembered how the boy had looked up, startled, with eyes of shocked velvet, and how he had clutched his tattered dog closer to his chest as he leapt back warily to survey him.

“There’s no cake here,” was the first thing he said, and he sounded almost ashamed. “I could only get the candles.”

 Toma looked at the ten flickering flames arranged in a neat circle, and looked back into the dewy eyes of this strange boy. He held out a hand and smiled.

“I like candles more than cake,” he said. “I’m Toma. Ikuta Toma.”

“Aiba Masaki.” The boy’s face lit up, and for the first time in his life, Toma actually understood what it meant when people said that fierce beauty could make even time stand still.

Aiba Masaki extended a limp paw of his ratty pet and clasped his outstretched hand.

And thus began their friendship.

The next day, they found out that they were born from the same pocket of earth, Toma two years after Aiba. They giggled as they recalled the same stones that had cradled them, the same meadows that had whispered lullabies into their ears, and Aiba laughed at everything Toma said, even when it wasn’t funny. He laughed when they talked about being parentless, and laughed again when Toma said he had been called a “Lost Boy.” He glowed when Toma described walking by frosted windows on Christmas Eve, and chortled until breaths failed him when Toma recounted the greedy expressions on children’s faces as they tore through their presents. Then, neither of them spoke for a while, each lost in his own thoughts, until he finally turned to Aiba and they sat down side by side to watch the sun set over a snowy horizon.

“I’m glad I met you,” he said. “Can I come back to see you some time?”

Aiba laughed again, the white mist from his mouth obscuring the last sliver of sun, and took his hand playfully.

“Why don’t you just stay and never leave?” he answered, grinning with a faint light of his own.

Toma had always thought that that might have been his moment of doom. The moment when those cruel claws of love clenched themselves around his naïve, eight-year-old heart. Twenty-two years had passed now, and still they had not let go.

_Oh no, not this again._

The sun was setting over the Circus, its orange rays glancing off the proud flagpoles of the Carousel before shooting into his little tent at the edge of the encampment.

Toma closed his eyes. He knew from experience that the best thing to do was to hibernate. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_The Prince is in love! Mark how he smiles!_

The more he invested into orchestrating this romance, the more Toma had to admit that Jun was, in many ways, perfect for Aiba.

Because with the curtains down and the costumes removed, the Matsumoto everyone knew as a glittering prince in the Carousel was actually nothing more than a man so gentle Toma felt that he could practically dissolve, like butter on warm toast. Jun, in private, was someone who liked bubbly wines and decorated pastries, who read and re-read sappy romances with perpetually moist eyes, who loved to take care of others, to pamper and shelter and spoon them in his embrace…

 _But of course, no one ever sees this side of our Prince._ Toma sighed. He watched as Jun hunched over his kitchen counter, eyes a painstaking inch from the surface of the cake he was decorating, and walked over to the window, where a small pile of snowflakes was just beginning to gather on the sill.

“You said Masaki likes green, right?” Jun straightened up to admire his handiwork before switching to a different colored tube of icing and bending down again.

“Mmhmm,” Toma hummed, watching the snowflakes fall, and remembering what it had felt like to stand in the cold with Aiba, catching the little droplets on their tongues. “A soft mint green. He always likes the cooler colors, says they’re soothing to him.”

Jun grunted as he finished the cake. “Well, I hope he’ll like this,” he said. “I’ve never made a birthday cake for anyone before.”

The exquisitely finished product gleaming in its creamy green glory was enough to make one of Toma’s brows go up skeptically, but he remained silent, staring at the lazy flurries of snow outside.

How many birthdays had it been since their fateful encounter on Christmas Eve? He could still remember every candle Aiba had stuck into the cement, that year and all the years that had followed. And he could also still hear, bright and sunny, Aiba’s voice singing himself the birthday song. All he had ever done was hum shyly in the background.

Every year, in the darkness of Christmas Eve, Aiba would wish for the same thing. And Toma never needed words to know what it was.

_‘I wonder if they watch us.’ Laughingly, Aiba had taken his hand and pulled him to crouch side by side on the snowy concrete. The candles had just been lit, and wax was beginning to pool where the thin sticks met the hard cement. Around them, the evening was cooling into its usual shades of melancholy, and Toma snuggled closer, secretly flushing with pleasure as he felt the familiar scarf being tucked under his chin by a set of snow-numbed fingers._

_‘Maybe when they’re bored,’ he answered contentedly, watching a tiny flake land on Aiba’s lips and wishing that he had the courage to melt it with a kiss._

_‘I suppose eternity can get boring after a while, huh…’ There was a tiny chuckle, and then Aiba had been the one to blush as the stars came out of hiding, their reflections dancing in his eyes. ‘Though they say it passes in a blink if you’re with the one you love.’_

_The one you love… Toma had gulped, staring into the stark circle of flames._

_Birthday candles on cold cement._

_Was love ever born from that?_

“Toma?” Jun was right behind him, tugging at his sleeve with an almost petulant urgency. “Are you still listening? What do you think about adding a mint garnish?”

“Mmm,” he closed his eyes, suddenly unable to swallow the growing bitterness in his chest. It had always been Jun, hadn’t it? He gave a wry smile as he nodded his approval of the cake.

 _Those cruel stars,_ he thought sourly. _They never even gave me a chance, did they?_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes, Toma wondered.

He knew he really shouldn’t, but it had been long since he was able to control his conscious thoughts, and they would now simply stream into his mind, languid and unbidden, lulling him into his torture.

On rainy nights, he’d wonder, between the blue of the world and blue in his heart, were _they_ sandwiched somewhere, bodies pressed together, fingers intertwined?

And when the rain faded back to make way for the dawn, would _his_ words be uttered into the fresh air and mingled with the sunrise? Would the first light strike a finger combing possessively through a mop of disheveled hair? Would the morning birdsong be chorus to whispers of romantic poetry?

Would Aiba open his eyes to a hovering warmth? Would his neck be dotted with blushes of pink? Would his voice be hoarse from cries of passion? Would he kiss---?

Toma flinched, and inwardly cursed the thought for visiting him every day.

Of course he would. Toma closed his eyes wearily. Aiba was in love with the worthiest man in the Circus.

Of course he would.

Toma tucked the cold sheets in around his legs and turned off his lamp.

That night, he dreamt of Santa Clause flying around in his sleigh. Feathered trapezes swung about the sky and dissolved into trails of Christmas lights. Mutely, he watched, and they drifted farther and farther following the sleigh, until finally all that was left were the stars winking cheekily down on his dilated eyes.

 _The dawn is breaking_ , someone whispered.

_Can you hear it?_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One month passed, and Toma had already coached Jun through seven successful dates with Aiba. On the eighth, though, something happened. Jun had decided that instead of going to the skating rink Toma suggested, they would go to his favorite fashion lounge to admire the newest selection of furs. The clerk had barely grabbed the first fox fur coat off the rack before Aiba paled, his boyish eyes wide with disbelief at Jun’s nod of appreciation.

“That… that came from a real fox?” he gasped.

“ _Four_ real foxes, actually.” The clerk had smiled proudly, offering him a feel of the lining.

The rest of the date had been a disaster, and of course, Toma was in charge of damage control.

“I can’t do this anymore!” Jun was pacing, hair in disarray and fingers writhing into fretful knots. “He turned away from me as soon as I went off your script, Toma. Don’t you see? It’s not _me_ he loves! I can’t say or do any of the things that he likes in a man; I can’t even take him shopping without accidentally offending him!”

He sat down on a stool, jumped up, and sat down again. In a far corner, Toma watched, his chin on steepled hands until finally, the gilded heels tapped against his chair and Jun settled on the cushion beside him with a sigh.

“It’s no use,” he muttered. “I can’t keep up this pretense. We should tell him the truth, Toma. And if he scorns me for the man I am, then so be it. He doesn’t deserve this deception.”

“Deception?” Toma’s head jerked up in alarm. That determined look in Jun’s eyes did not bode well, and he knew that he had only a few minutes before that steely resolve turned set and unshakeable.

“You’re overreacting, Jun.” He tried to keep his voice level. “Aiba loves you far more than you think. Even without the words I put in your mouth, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. There are practically _blossoms_ in his cheeks.”

He smiled softly, encouragingly. _The perfect confidant._

“Your heart’s in the right place, after all; does it matter if your tongue is a little clumsy?”

Jun was frowning, but Toma was relieved to see a contemplative look replace the determined one. Matsumoto Jun was known for being immensely hard to sway.

“Aiba is lucky to have you.” He swallowed a stitch in his throat and pressed on with as much certainty as he could muster. “He’s always been gentle and a little too idealistic for his own good, but once he sees past your pride, he’ll love you for whatever it is you hide underneath. I know he will. I _promise_ he will.”

The last words stuck like barbs in his throat, but he managed a nod of conviction as Jun looked up to meet his eyes almost imploringly.

“You really promise?” whispered Jun.

“I guarantee it.” He smiled until his eyes were crinkled shut. He didn’t think he could stomach the hope rekindling in Jun’s devastatingly soulful eyes.

“Did he at least like the fireworks?” he asked, wanting so much to fall and shatter, like a pin thrown just out of its juggler’s gloved reach. “You at least stuck to that part of the plan, didn’t you?”

Jun nodded, some of the pride coming back to his arched cheeks.

“He wouldn’t stop laughing until his throat dried up, and even then, he kept smiling.” He gave Toma a tiny look of gratitude. “You should have been there. It was like he had gone back to being ten years old.”

“That’s good,” Toma laughed, his eyes still happily crinkled. “He was the world’s biggest crybaby when he was _actually_ ten years old.”

They smiled at each other, and Jun stood up.

“Thanks, Toma… for everything.”

“You two were meant for each other.”

Still smiling, he escorted Jun to the door and bowed.

He didn’t start punching his pillow until that lovestruck figure was swallowed by the horizon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four months from the day the bells rang for Matsumoto, Aiba came bounding down the steps of the Carousel in a whirlwind of limbs and hair and clouds of glitter.

“I’ve heard the bells!” He exclaimed, scooping Toma’s bewildered figure up by the waist. “Oh Toma, I’ve heard them! I’ve heard the bells!”

The magic in his joy had the very atmosphere sparkling in subtle hints of violet and emerald, and the remnants of winter that still lingered in the frost seemed to melt away under its influence. Caught up in the whirlwind, Toma could barely contain his awe as he looked up, and two gleaming eyes shone back at him with all the fierce power of a man deeply and drunkenly in love.

“Ai-ba…” he croaked, a part of his heart dancing at the beauty even though most of him felt like an icy spear had just rammed through his gut. “I’m happy for you… but please… stop spinning… you’re making me spill my drink!”

“Oh. Sorry.” Aiba stopped twirling and sheepishly helped him wipe the fizzy soda stains off his shirt. The magical hues had faded a little from his eyes, though Toma could still feel an excited hum in the air between them.

“I always get too carried away,” Aiba grinned, and then pulled at Toma’s hand apologetically. “Come on! Let’s go somewhere where I can buy you a real drink!”

There was no time to even catch a breath—let alone protest or refuse—before they were both ducking behind an elaborate curtain in the central Circus, a mug of foamy ale thrust into their hands and a wave of cheers rising up through the tented hall as the Carousel’s Sweet Masaki beamed out across the tables.

Toma was thankful that Aiba didn’t seem inclined to linger in the pub, and the fresh air was relieving on his face when they finally gathered a pitcher to themselves and stepped out the back opening, into the open evening.

Aiba laughed and drank, but for the most part drank.

“You were never good at controlling yourself,” Toma sighed and watched as the last drop of gold trickled down that creamy throat. The intoxication was fading now, and with it, the night’s warmth.

“Don’t burn too bright when you finally snuggle into your own corner of the night,” he muttered. “Or I won’t be able to stop looking at the blasted sky.”

That, he supposed, was probably the closest he’d ever come to saying _“I’m going to miss you.”_

“You know that’s just going to make me shine extra bright!” Aiba giggled. “Just for you.”

Toma smacked him, and for a moment, that happy, moonlit face almost transported him back to the long lost days of their childhood, when they would still wrestle each other in the open air and hold hands as they danced through sunlit meadows. Aiba was laughing, looking just like he did before the Circus, before the Carousel, before _Jun_.

Then something in the air sobered. The moonbeams laced tighter, and every shadow sharpened under the cooling night. Somewhere far off, a lion whimpered, and right in front of him, tears entered Aiba’s laughing face, so subtle that at first they seemed like no more than the reflection of stars in his eyes, though they soon welled up, dripped and fell through the air like diamonds glazed in moonlight.

“Will you really be watching me?” Aiba whispered, moving closer and taking Toma’s hand. “Every night? Will you look up into the sky and wave at me?”

“Yes.” Toma thumbed the salt-streaks off his cheeks and gave a weak chuckle. “Every night,” he promised. “I’ll even blow you a kiss when I’m feeling generous.”

“It won’t be the same,” Aiba laughed softly. “But I’d like that.”

He closed what distance remained between them, and Toma suddenly found himself being pressed, gargantuan nose first, into a back-breaking, bone-crunching embrace.

_This, I suppose, is the closest I’ll ever get to being intimate with him._

A pity hug, he thought bitterly. That was all he was ever going to ge wasn’t it?

“I wish that falling in love didn’t mean leaving you behind.” Aiba broke away, blinking.

 _A Clown would not fit into the tapestries of the night sky._ Toma smiled, as always. And then it struck him, that nagging feeling that had been at the back of his mind all night.

_Where’s Jun?_

_And why is Aiba not with him?_

Unsettled, he withdrew his hand, and refused to look as Aiba retreated with another wistful laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Autumn. Winter. Spring. It was spring again.

The clock was now ticking, and the entire Circus was excitedly getting ready to send off their most glittering prince and his equally glittering love. The announcement had been made with joy, and the venerable Old Johnny himself had appeared on the Carousel stage to wish his two protégés a smooth flight to eternity.

_‘The stars are born of passion,’ he had said with a wrinkly smile. ‘May the passion of your love be a beacon to us all.’_

_Toma had stood somewhere in the shadows, his big nose turned to the ground in shame. On stage, Ohno, the only remaining member of the Carousel, was openly weeping, while the two stars-to-be were standing side by side, a faint glow already visible in the contours of their smiles._

There was only one week to go now.

One week until the love of his life flew out of his reach forever.

Wearily, he plucked the fake nose off and washed the day’s make-up from his face. It was cruel, he thought, that even then, Aiba would always be there, hanging from the sky like a fruit he would never taste.

“Toma, Toma! Where are you, I need you!”

It was like the voice of his dreams, saying just what he had always wanted to hear, but when a desperate Aiba Masaki burst through his door, all thoughts of this forbidden tenderness ceased.

“It’s Jun,” sobbed Aiba, clutching him close. “He’s fallen ill and won’t leave his bed.”

“What?” Toma had a sinking feeling that he knew what this was about, but he breathed in Aiba’s scent, and let the long arms wrap him tighter. “He was fine just yesterday, when we all drank and celebrated.”

“It started this morning,” said Aiba tearfully. “He was acting strange; he lay in bed looking all worried and kept asking me if I was ready. Of course I was, and I told him that! I told him I’d been dreaming of this since I was ten, but he pushed my arms aside and turned away from my kisses. Nothing I do will move him…”

“Shh…” Toma ran a soothing hand down Aiba’s back. “He’s probably just nervous. You guys are so close to the big day! Even Nino was nervous the day before he had to commit his eternity to Sho-kun, remember?”

“This is different,” whispered Aiba, closing his eyes. “Nino never pushed his Sho-chan away, and he never accused Sho of…of loving someone else.”

Toma’s heart froze, and like lightning he stumbled back to hold the sobbing Aiba at arm’s length.

“What do you mean, Aiba? Did Jun-Did someone accuse you of that?”

A crystalline tear sparkled at the edge of Aiba’s chin, and hung precariously for a fleeting second before dropping in a soft splat that spoke more than any words that could have come from the mouth.

“He said it wasn’t my fault,” Aiba cried. “He kept looking away, and those eyes just kept welling up with tears. Even his light looked dimmer as he sat there. It was horrible; I was so scared, but I swear, Toma, that I’ve _never—_ ”

“I know,” Toma cut him off, his throat very dry and uncomfortable as he removed his hands from those heaving shoulders. “Ever since that day you smiled into his scowl, huh?”

He forced a smile, and poked Aiba’s wet cheek lightly.

“You’ve been absolutely devoted to him since that day. Even a blind person can see that.”

Could words cause physical pain as they exited one’s lips? Toma bit back his lower lip, but did not stop smiling as he watched the gratitude enter Aiba’s teary eyes.

“I knew you’d understand, Toma. You always understand me. I just—It’s _Jun_ , you know? He’s always understood me so perfectly before...” Aiba’s voice choked up, and he looked at Toma imploringly. “He just wouldn’t stop repeating that it wasn’t him I loved, and then, just when I was about to cry, he said your name. Said he wanted to… to see you. Said you were the only one he could talk to… Please!” He grabbed Toma’s hand and shook it tightly. “Please Toma, tell him… tell my Jun that I love him _, so much_. And tell him I’ll be waiting, however long it takes, to spend my eternity with him.”

Was this what they meant when they said someone was ‘dying inside?’

This slow, gnawing agony that chipped away at every level of one’s guts?

Toma swallowed and looked into Aiba’s guileless eyes.

No, he realized with a sinking feeling.

_The painful part is yet to come._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I need to speak with Toma alone.”

Jun’s voice was barely a whisper, but Aiba flinched as if he’d been struck.

“Excuse me,” he choked, like a child being admonished.

Toma waited until his retreating footsteps were far out of earshot before throwing Jun a dirty look.

“You could have come to me directly,” he said disapprovingly. “I never thought you’d get cold feet.”

“You gave me a dream,” said Jun hoarsely. “A six month long dream…”

He shifted under the rich silk of his bed, and stared dully at his listless hands.

“But dreams aren’t real, Toma. And I can’t—I just can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right. It’s like every time he kisses me, his tongue is searching for something different, some forgotten touch, or some lost memory… of you.” The fire behind those princely eyes darkened, and a sad smile appeared on his lips. “I guess there’s just always been something he’s loved about you, even if you won’t admit it, and I know you, Toma. You’ll never admit it.”

“There’s nothing to admit. Aiba loves you, not me.” Toma’s voice was flat. Honestly, how many times would he have to keep repeating this?

“You have a place in his heart I’ll never have,” continued Jun sadly.

 _No._ He stood up and stared coldly down at the melancholy Prince of the Circus.

“Aiba was born from the same stone I was; we ran on the same grass, tasted the same snow, drew hope from that same star shining low on the east horizon. I know him as well as I know my own two hands. But he’s now the Sweet Masaki of the Carousel, while I...” Toma’s lips tightened into a bitter line. Was he saying too much? He shot Jun a quick look and sighed.

“This is a love story for the stars, Jun, and only a Prince can be the hero.”

Jun looked away, but Toma grabbed his hand and forced him to turn back so they were eye to eye.

“ _You_ are a Prince,” he said fiercely. “From head to toe. Aiba worshipped you before he even met you, did you know that? Right from the beginning, you two were meant for each other, and I’ve practically ripped my heart from my own chest trying to make this happen. So don’t insult me with your doubt of Aiba’s love.”

A shadow shivered outside the open window. A tall, man-shaped shadow. But Toma’s mind was hardly focused on it as he reached around his neck, unclasped a red petal encased in a coarse pendant, and threw it onto the sumptuous sheets his best friend shared with the Prince of the Carousel night after warm night.

“You promised me you’d look after him,” he said tersely. “It’s always been his dream to fly, remember?”

With slow nostalgia, Jun’s fingers ghosted the blot of red. He looked up at Toma’s retreating figure, and a small bloom of color began to re-enter those lofty cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night before the ascent, Toma was in his usual corner of the Circus, leaning against the now rusted lion cage with a now wrinkled lion as company. The Prince had recovered from his mysterious illness, and a festival was brewing in Carousel. All Toma wanted was one last night of solitude, but as always, he should have counted on Aiba knowing just when to find him.

“It was you, wasn’t it? From the very beginning.”

Toma didn’t turn around to respond. There was an arresting note in Aiba’s normally placid voice, and it reminded him of the half-forgotten childhood they had spent together in what might as well have been a lifetime ago.

“Are you going to come here now, too? This isn’t the Carousel.” He bent a sleeping dandelion stalk in half and watched as the tufted crown tumbled to the grass. _Light and shadow. Opposites. Just like us._

A hand stayed his wrist when he turned to open the rusting cage door.

“I’d have come sooner,” Aiba told him. “If you’d trusted me enough with the truth.”

 _I did trust you._ Toma smiled bitterly in his faded clown make-up. _Enough to know just how you would have broken._

Jii-san had padded up to stick a wet nose through the bars, and Toma poked back with a finger, comforted by the steady licks on his skin.

“The stars are all out tonight,” he said evasively. “I think they’re anticipating your ascent.”

“I won’t go,” said Aiba. Toma didn’t respond, so he pulled him back by the hand. “I know it was all you, the dates, the gifts, the letters and poems. Jun told me everything. You—you’re in love with me, aren’t you?”

A fresh wind was blowing, ruffling their hair with the fragrance of night grass and drowsy flowers and a distant scent of salt.

“You shouldn’t have come here tonight,” said Toma quietly. “You should be preparing to fly—”

“Deny it, then.” Long arms hemmed him in, and he felt the metal bars pressing coolly into his back. “Tell me that you don’t love me.”

Aiba’s warm breath was grazing his chin, and he shuddered. _This isn’t fair!_ He cried silently inside. Why _now_ , when they were so close to the end? Why couldn’t Aiba have come to his realization sooner, much much sooner, before they ever entered this damned Circus where there were Princes and Clowns and wickedly spinning Carousels?

Out loud, though, he merely swallowed a tremble and closed his eyes. He did not give an answer, which only seemed to encourage Aiba more.

“Tell me you never dreamed of chasing me, Toma. Can you do that? Can you watch me put my hand in Jun’s and smile like you’re not breaking inside? Can you spend the rest of your life looking up at the night, knowing that one word from you now would have kept me on earth?”

The moon was hanging sickly in a neglected corner of the sky and Aiba’s voice was barely a whisper on his skin.

“Tell me you _want_ me to leave, Toma. Tell me right now that you’ve never loved me. _Can you?_ ”

_Can I?_

Something snapped in Toma. His eyes glared open with intense darkness and he stared at the man in front of him. Aiba was so close now and those soft eyes were glistening with a torture of their own, but Toma hardened himself. This was going to be the climax of his life in the Circus, the culminating moment of the longest-running show written, directed and choreographed by he the Clown, Ikuta Toma, and he knew he couldn’t—he absolutely _couldn’t_ — break character now.

_“You shame the bells that rang for Jun, Aiba.”_

His lifted his arm, letting the icy words sink in and watching the hurt gather in those sweet chocolate eyes, before bringing it down in a resounding slap right across Aiba Masaki’s beautiful, tear-stained cheek.

 _–– “And no, for the record, I_ never _loved you at all” ––_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the night of the ascent, the whole Circus was festooned with the gaudiest of colors, the richest of fabrics and the rowdiest musical instruments that ever graced a ring. Their Prince was flying with his Sweet Masaki, and from this night on, two new stars would be born to the night. Up in the evening, the last two ascenders glittered piercingly, and the Circus rejoiced to see their Sho-kun and Nino so eagerly anticipating the reunion with their Carousel friends.

As Head Clown, Toma stood by the Carousel in full costume, his brightest paints beaming from his face as his colored eyes followed the steadily spinning horses. There was magic in the air, and though he couldn’t hear them, he knew the sweetbells had been ringing all throughout the day.

Jun had come to him that morning, proudly dressed in princely velvet. The doubt had dissipated from the handsome face, and with renewed strength and joy they embraced, one Prince cheek to cheek with one Clown.

“I will never doubt you again,” Jun murmured, smiling softly. “Masaki came to me in tears. I took him in my arms and apologized, but he apologized more, and together we clung and cried until the bells chimed sunrise.”

“Fools,” Toma laughed. “Both of you cry too easily.”

“I don’t even know what he was apologizing for.” Jun’s face was so full of guileless happiness, Toma almost forgot the dull ache in his heart. “But he loves me, that I know. And we have a bright eternity ahead of us. I don’t think I need to question him anymore.”

Weakly, Toma patted Jun on the back.

“Congratulations,” he said simply.

He could see the red pendant he had flung at the Prince gleaming from that masculine neck. _It suits him,_ he thought, and somehow, a wave of reassurance washed over him.

_I have the word of a Prince._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night was getting dark, and it was a mere hour before the ascent when Aiba Masaki came to bid his final goodbye.

Toma was at the Carousel, listlessly counting the laps, watching the horses shimmer on their poles of ivory.

“I love you, too, just so you know.”

He blinked at the voice, turning around to see his oldest friend glowing in the halo of circus lights. Aiba was already dressed in his soft white robes, and the tears from last night had all been kissed away from his cheeks though the tinge of an angry handprint could still be seen on the left.

“You... love… _me_?” he repeated, puzzled. Aiba looked to the ground guiltily.

“I know you must think I’m horrible for saying that, and for… for everything last night.” He kicked some loose dirt with a polished shoe before looking back up at Toma and continuing in a small voice. “But I was terrified, you know, when Jun told me it was all you. My mind just jumped to the conclusion that you must have loved me all this time, and it undid me. In that hour, I lost all reason, lost the very ability to think. All that swam in my mind were thoughts of you, your fingers, your hands, your lips, your nose, and the one damning delusion that I could have had it all if I had only been braver to chase you sooner.”

Toma’s jaw dropped, and he was glad of the clownish make-up that concealed his sudden blanch. It was like the earth had just taken a tumble beneath his feet and batted his very heart out of his throat. The music dimmed, the horses reeled, and his insides writhed like a million tiny worms all trying to spew out of his dried-up mouth.

“What are you saying?” he croaked.

“I've always been torn, Toma.”

Aiba was looking at him, the chocolate eyes filled with soft, peaceful regret.

“Between you and Jun, I’ve never quite been able to decide. I can’t remember ever _not_ loving you, not since you sang me happy birthday back when I was ten and let me hold your hand in the snowy night, but then we met Jun, and he was beautiful and stern and proud but secretly _so_ gentle, and my treacherous heart began to love him, too.” Aiba touched Toma’s shoulder, but quickly withdrew when he felt a flinch.

“To be honest,” he smiled ruefully. “I was relieved when you struck me last night. For the past six months I’ve been trying to convince myself that ascending with Jun is the right thing to do, but now my doubts are gone, and I know for sure that you don’t love me, at least not the way I love you. And really, how could I ever have expected you to? It was always just a dream, I suppose, that someone as wonderful as my Toma would give his heart to a greedy fool who splits his love between two men…”

 _Oh the irony!_ Toma raised his face slowly and let those fingers he remembered so well caress his forehead, nose and then mouth. His face paint had already crusted a bit, and it only crumbled more with the touch. _Should I laugh?_ he wondered as Aiba traced a clump of red along his lower lip. _Should I congratulate myself on how perfectly my self-directed love story panned out?_

His arm shivered as he took a step back, out of Aiba’s reach.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softening the lie. “But there’s only one man who loves you, and from now on, your heart needs to be full of him, _only_ him.”

He watched those beloved eyes flicker and knew that his work was done. There was nothing more that needed saying. Aiba was no longer torn, and Jun was shining like the star he was always born to be. Bells were ringing, and the world was ready for two new stars.

 _Except for my heart._ With a bittersweet smile, he held out a hand.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Jun’s probably waiting.”

Silently, Aiba nodded, and for the last time, their hands joined, warm and soft, just like they were back in their meadowland, before the Circus, before the Carousel. On his face, Toma could feel a cool wind blowing, and on his tongue he could almost taste again that sweet scent of dreams and fantasies mingled with smoke from half-melted candles pooling into the cement.

_What is my heart to the eternity of the stars, after all?_

He took a hold of Aiba’s wrist, and gently placed it in Matsumoto’s waiting hand. The light of the Carousel was already beginning to enshroud them. The stallions were rearing their heads while streams of glittering mist bound themselves across the new couple’s joined hands. A brilliant ray of light shot out from each of their chests, one emerald, one amethyst, until the night sky was illuminated from horizon to horizon. Awestruck, Toma stumbled while the rest of the crowd cheered.

_Goodbye, Toma._

A lone sparkle spilling out of a wet chocolate eye.

That was the last glimpse of Aiba Masaki he ever saw.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Epilogue_

What was it like to be a star in the night? Aiba had always dreamed of this moment, of soaring through the sky on wisps of fairy dust, and flashing between the twinkling brothers and sisters who had come before him, hearing them giggle as he darted around, playing his mischievous game of hide and seek.

Jun, his handsome stern-eyed Jun, was holding his hand and shimmering serenely, a true Prince in the starry palace he belonged at last. They had not let go of each other since alighting from the horses that bore them up, and the first time they made love in the night, Jun had kissed him from head to toe, relishing every beam of light that shone out from his skin before finally claiming him in full view of the constellations. Streaks of their passion rained down on the earth in showers of meteors, and with Jun inside him, he had closed his eyes, sighing as the cloak of immortality enveloped them both.

Sho-kun was watching them enviously. Aiba hid his smile in Jun’s shoulder. That devilish Nino must have run away from his eternal lover again! It was like nothing had changed up here in the sky: Nino was still flighty, and Sho-kun still chased him loyally all over the sky. Perhaps tonight, Nino would let himself be caught. Aiba grinned at the thought.

 _You two make love too much!_ Sho-kun harrumphed away on his lover’s trail, and a peaceful silence settled over the two remaining stars.

 _Jun and Masaki, Princes of the Night._ A tiny chuckle warbled out from the glowing body he clung to and the arms around him tightened happily, drawing their lips together yet again.

Aiba cast a glance down just before closing his eyes.

 _He’s looking up at us._ He tucked that thought away and smiled a secret smile.

_His hair’s turned grey and wrinkles have grown under that painted smile._

_The lion went last year._

_But that nose, that big clown nose._

_I’d recognize it anywhere._

Jun tickled him with a playful tongue, and he sighed in contentment, just like he did every time their lips joined.

 _Thank you_ , he whispered down.

_Thank you, my first love._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

END

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**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Inspired by Cyrano de Bergerac.


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